


Alexander's Lover

by Binary_Sunset



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Bodyguard Romance, Character Death, Jealousy, M/M, Slow Burn, includes moodboard, technically Ancient Macedonia but who's paying attention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-23 21:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14941781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Binary_Sunset/pseuds/Binary_Sunset
Summary: The third son of a wealthy merchant in Ancient Macedonia, Oliver has very little prospects and even less of a chance to make a name for himself.That is, of course, until a run-in with the kingdom's prince completely changes everything.





	Alexander's Lover

**Author's Note:**

  * For [almostannette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostannette/gifts).



> This all came about because Annette noticed the reference to Hephaistion in Mystery of Love, so please blame Sufjan Stevens.
> 
> I won't lie, this AU is a weird one and I didn't do a whole lot of research. Elio is very heavily inspired by Alexander the Great himself, but Oliver's role is a bit of a mix between Hephaistion and Macedonian personal pages. If you know more about Ancient Macedonian history and culture than I do (and you probably do), please let me know in the comments!
> 
> I'd also like to personally apologise to Annella Perlman for fridging her. She's one of the best characters in the whole movie and I couldn't find anything to do with her, I'm so sorry.

 

 

Oliver had spent his entire life knowing he would never amount to anything. He was the the third son of a wealthy, land-owning merchant, not destined to inherit his father’s wealth and trade or even be considered a favourable husband. His only real hope was to pick up a craft or become a scholar and hope to catch the eye of a wealthy girl. Though, more likely, he’d be a stepping stone to some girl trying to work her family’s way up by marrying higher than her own status.

Such was the fate of later sons, he supposed.

He’d been sent to the palace in Macedonia at fifteen, hoping to learn from the great scholars there. Oliver had taken to learning better than most of his peers. His father had been an intelligent man, of course, but his intelligence began and ended with mathematics and economics. He had no use for, and therefore no interest in, philosophy or ethics or literature. He’d taught Oliver and his brothers how to pay their taxes and calculate prices, but their education stopped once it was no longer useful to the family business.

When Oliver had stepped through the doors of the palace and gotten his first lesson from the great scholars in the king’s massive library, it was like taking his first sip of water after being stranded in the desert.

Things had become more than just calculations and playing the market. There were poems to read, plays to watch, ideas to discuss. He’d devoured them all like a man possessed, even sneaking out on occasion to access the library late at night. It felt like the one thing in life that he could ever truly call his own. He was forever grateful to the king for the opportunity to find himself here.

Samuel, the king of Macedonia and a fairly well-respected scholar in his own right, had hired a handful of his colleagues to teach his son. Although the prince was apparently quite bright (Oliver had only seen him in passing and occasionally at festivals so he couldn’t know for sure), he was still rather young and only had so much patience for learning. So, Samuel had extended the invitation to a few of his favoured families and, though Oliver’s brothers weren’t interested at all, he’d jumped at the chance to make something of his life.

Which was, more or less, how he’d ended up here, awake far past curfew and hunched over a copy of _The Iliad_ in the library. He was twenty now, married only to his studies, and had finally managed to get ahold of the book. Oliver knew the story, of course, he’d heard it told countless times and had heard it referenced plenty more, but it was so different, finally getting his hands on the original story and reading it from the page. It felt more pure somehow, like these were the words of Homer himself put to papyrus. They weren’t, of course, but someone had taken the time and effort to write down the version they’d preferred and Oliver was reading that effort and that passion right now, unadulterated and just as the author had intended.

He was so intently focused on his reading that he hardly noticed the quiet noise of another person entering the library. In fact, he had no idea anyone was even there until a quiet voice spoke.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone to be up this late.”

Oliver tensed, panicking for a moment, as he was sure that this must have been someone coming to scold him.

But it wasn’t. Instead, he was being looked at intently by a pair of curious, dark eyes illuminated by the lamplight. They belong to a boy, clearly on the brink of manhood. He lacked a beard (and clearly had no intention of growing one in), but it was clear that he was long since past the awkwardness of adolescence.

In his drowsiness, Oliver couldn’t quite place where he’d seen the boy before (definitely somewhere around the palace. He was sure of that). He was probably someone’s lover. Oliver was sure that no man would reject the opportunity to be a mentor to such a beautiful young man.

“I’m sorry, did I interrupt you?” he continued. Oliver could’ve sworn he saw the boy flush, though it might have just been a trick of the light.

“No, you haven’t. It _is_ late, I’d best be heading back to bed.” He made a quick grab for the lanturn, but the boy stopped him, picking up the papyrus and scanning it.

“Well, I can hardly blame you for sneaking out to read this. _The Iliad_ is a master work, and Achilles and Patroclus have one of the greatest love stories ever told.”

Oliver would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought the same. “Achilles’ dedication to his love is… admirable, taking on an entire army alone ust to avenge him. Someday I’d like to meet someone who cares for me the way Achilles did Patroclus.”

The boy raised an eyebrow. “You think of yourself as Patroclus and not Achilles? I always thought most men your age would want to see themselves as the dashing war hero, son of a goddess, not his lesser-known lover.”

Oliver shrugged. “If you’re looking for a war hero, I’m afraid you have the wrong brother. I doubt I could ever be so great, but if someone like that wanted me in their life, I’d do my best to be deserving of their affection. And I’d feel a bit blasphemous, comparing myself to a demigod.”

Oliver could not say the same for the boy in front of him. If he’d said he was the son of Aphrodite herself, Oliver wouldn’t have batted an eye. Or, perhaps, it had been Apollo who’d snuck into his  mother’s bed and sired the boy. There was something so ethereal and delicate about his beauty, it wouldn’t surprise Oliver if its source was otherworldly. He kept his mouth shut, though. If he was correct, if this boy was already spoken for, the last thing Oliver would want to do would be to anger them.

The boy hummed. “So humble. But you’re right, you wouldn’t be Peleus’ son at all. You’d be Odysseus, Athena’s chosen. It’s that thirst for wisdom that brought you here, isn’t it?”

_The Odyssey._  Oliver hadn’t read that one on papyrus yet, but he certainly knew the story. “I’m afraid I’ve not yet found a Penelope who’d deem me worthy of waiting for.”

“There’s always time. And I doubt there are a shortage of women looking for your hand.”

Oliver chuckled. “Now that, my friend, is where you’re wrong. There’s little love for a third son.”

“Or perhaps you’re only a later son to give everyone else a chance.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Does whoever brought you here know that you’re saying such things to me?”

“No one brought me here, this is the only home I’ve ever known. I have no one to answer to except the Gods themselves.” He winked. “And my father, but he’d give me more trouble for being out of bed at this hour.”

So he wasn’t someone’s lover, then. That was a good sign. No one to be upset with him for being alone with their beloved so late at night. And if he lived here, he was probably just an unfortunately pretty servant, perhaps one who’d been leered at before by the palace’s many inhabitants.

But then, Oliver caught himself. There was no way a mere servant was literate enough to have recognised a papyrus of _The Illiad_ on sight. That would mean…

...but there was no way a _prince_ of all people would have taken the time to talk with him.

“And who is your father, exactly?”

The boy cocked his head, confusion twisting his features, but making them no less beautiful. “Samuel. The king.” He laughed. “I thought that was why you were entertaining me for so long.”

“No, I was just enjoying the company.” He tried to hide how stunned he was. A prince had chosen to talk with him in the middle of the night? Why?

Not only had he talked with him, he’d implied Oliver would be a good husband. And his tone had seemed more than a little flirtatious. Or perhaps Oliver had just been imagining things, wishful thinking that this boy… this _prince_ had taken an interest in him.

“Oh. Well, I enjoyed your company as well. Do I get to know your name? I’m sure you’ve figured mine out by now.”

Well, the king only had one child. Oliver had only really seen him in passing, mostly during feasts when the whole palace was eating together. The prince was taught by a private tutor, whereas the rest of the students were usually in a room together with whichever scholar had been asked to teach them that day. And Oliver was sure that, despite the prince’s slim frame, he was one to frequent the training grounds, which Oliver usually did everything in his power to avoid.

But he did know his name.

“Elio.” Oliver held out a hand. “I’m Oliver. It’s a pleasure, my prince.”

Elio smiled and shook his hand. “Charmed.” He looked over his shoulder. “It’s getting late. But I’d like to see you soon. Can you meet me here after dinner?”

Oliver rolled up the papyrus. “Of course I can.” He put it back on the shelf and grabbed his lamp. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

 

 

Oliver would be lying if he said he wasn’t distracted for the rest of the day. There was something about the prospect of seeing Elio after dinner that sent his nerves abuzz. Even through dinner, he kept surreptitiously glancing at the prince, hoping to catch his eye. He had to tell himself that the meeting they’d had last night wasn’t just a dream or a trick of his mind.

As soon as he strolled into the library only a few minutes after dinner ended, he was certain it wasn’t. Elio was sitting on the chair Oliver had occupied the night before, staring at his own hands to pass the time.

He felt his breath catch in his throat. What on Earth had he done to deserve this?

Even just sitting here, staring passively downwards, Elio was beautiful. His lips were gently pursed, his hazel eyes catching the light enough that Oliver could probably appreciate every fleck of colour in them if Elio let him get close enough. Even his hair, clearly mussed from the day’s activities, looked soft and like it was perfect for Oliver to run his hands through.

He looked up, a smirk twisting his delicate features into a shape that, while unusual, was no less lovely. “I was beginning to think I’d dreamt it all. That you were some spectre sent by the Gods to mock me.”

Oliver sat beside him. They’d switched places from the night before. “I was beginning to think the same.”

It was Elio who caught Oliver’s face in his hand, looked right at him and stared into his eyes. “I was right. Athena has left her mark on you.”

He knew what Elio was talking about. Oliver’s eyes were gray, the same as the goddess’.

“I told you it would be blasphemous to call me a demigod, my prince.”

Elio pulled back and smiled. “Odysseus wasn’t a demigod either and he still won the goddess’ favour. Perhaps she knew that you were destined for this life.”

Oliver scoffed. “Destined to be the third son of a merchant? Hardly something worthy of a blessing.”

“Your mind was made for better things than arithmetic and selling cattle.”

“And how would you know that? You didn’t know my name until last night.”

Elio hummed. “My father and I talk. I asked about you this morning. He told that he sees a bright future for you, that you’re one of the sharpest students here. You shouldn’t think so ill of yourself. Even if you haven’t won Athena’s favour, you’ve won my father’s, which is no small feat.”

Oliver exhaled sharply. He hated talking about himself. The praise should have made him glow with pride, but instead he had the creeping sense of dread that he _didn’t deserve it_. He tried to change the subject as quickly as he could.

“Why did you ask to see me?”

The prince raised an eyebrow. “I think you know why. But if, for some reason, the purpose of this meeting wasn’t clear, I wanted to get to know you better. I liked the way you treated me, when you didn’t know who I was. Even if you weren’t quite receptive to my advances, I liked hearing you talk about poetry and stories and the Gods. I want to talk with you more, hear what’s going on inside that mind of yours. It seems an interesting place.”

So Elio had been flirting with him earlier. Oliver wanted to open his mouth and tell this boy that he’d love nothing more than to be with him, that he wanted to touch his skin and kiss those pale pink lips until they were bright red. But he kept these thoughts to himself. He was sure Elio had plenty of suitors looking for his hand, and Oliver would be a poor erastes. What material pleasures could he bring a _prince_ , after all? He barely had enough money to survive on his own. Elio deserved better, was probably expecting better from any potential lover.

No need to entertain something that would never work out.

“If you’d like to spend more time with me, I would be honoured.” He paused for a moment. “And not just because you’re the prince,” Oliver clarified. “You could be a slave boy and I would accept your offer just as enthusiastically.”

Elio smiled. “Thank you.”

There was a moment of silence between them as Elio breathed heavily and wrung his hands. He was nervous. Why would he be nervous?

“Would you like to tell me what you’ve been studying?” Oliver asked, realising that if he didn’t break the silence no one would.

Conversation came easy once Oliver managed to break the ice. They talked about Plato and Socrates and Homer and Sappho. There were so many things that Elio had read that Oliver hadn’t yet, only because gained access to such books so recently. He loved hearing the prince summarise them, their themes and their plots and the scenes he particularly liked.

It was almost hypnotic, listening to Elio’s thoughts. He was so passionate about these works, the words just seemed to flow through him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Conversation came so easily to the two of them, for a while it felt like they’d known each other their whole lives. Eventually, though, it was time to separate and go to bed.

As soon as Oliver laid down, however, he felt himself smile. There was something so sweet and pure about Elio; he was all youthful vigour and passion. Perhaps the boy was a bit tiring at times, but it was so easy to get swept up in his excitement that Oliver figured he could live with it.

 

* * *

 

Oliver’s meetings with the Prince had become pretty common. They’d met just about every day after dinner, if neither of them had any lessons to attend. It had started off mostly as an opportunity to talk in the library, but soon it had evolved into much more. They’d gone on sunset walks through the palace gardens, Elio pointing out a few of his mother’s favourite flowers, the ones she’d planted before she passed. He’d even given Oliver a few and wove them into a crown that he still kept in his bedroom, now dried and faded but still beautiful.

It had been a warm, spring day when Oliver had been summoned for a meeting with the king in his study.

Samuel had been polite enough to schedule for after Oliver’s lessons were complete for the day. Though it was nice of him to take Oliver’s own needs into account, it only served to make him more nervous. He spent most of his time wondering exactly what the king, Elio’s father, wanted him for.

 

* * *

 

By the time he stood outside of Samuel’s study door, all of that nervous energy had pooled into what felt like a rock sitting in his stomach. What did he want? Did he know about Oliver’s feelings for his son? Did he find them untoward? Or was this about something else? Oliver clenched his fists, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

“It’s Oliver, sir.”

“You’re free to let yourself in.”

Oliver took a breath and entered the room. Whatever Samuel wanted, it was something he had to accept.

The king was sitting at his desk, glancing over a few notes before looking over at Oliver. “I’m glad you came, I’ve been looking forward to speaking with you.”

Hearing the king speak was only making his nerves worse. Oliver couldn’t decipher anything from the man’s tone. “And I you, my king.”

“I’ve noticed that you and my son have been spending quite a bit of time together. He so rarely interacts with other people his age, I think it’s good that he’s found a friend in you, even if you are a little older than him.”

Oliver felt himself exhale, the knot in his stomach starting to loosen. “Thank you. Your son is incredibly kind and intelligent, and I’m glad that you approve.”

“Not only do I approve, I’d actually like the two of you to spend more time together, if I may be so bold.”

“Of course you may! It would be an honour!” he blurted. Oliver paused and tried to regain himself. “Though, I must ask what you’ll have me do. If this was just a request to have me be his companion, I’m sure you know we’re already spending time together, so there would be no need to call this meeting unless you had something more to ask.”

“You’re right. Bright as usual, Oliver.” Samuel sighed. “I’m sure you know that the kingdom of Macedonia isn’t exactly friendly with all its neighbours. After my attempted occupation of Persia some years ago, I’m afraid I’ve made some quite powerful enemies, and I’m sure many of them would be more than happy to kidnap Elio, or worse. He might be skilled on the battlefield, but he’s quite small, and I feel as though he’d be considered an easy target in the absence of weapons and armour. I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this.”

Oliver paused. The king was requesting him to be Elio’s bodyguard? “But why me, my king? I lack any sort of military training.”

“I won’t lie to you, it’s entirely because you’ve become so close to my son. Elio hates the idea of being coddled, unfortunately, and he’s very adamantly against the idea. So I figured, having you fill the role was the only way he’d ever accept having a bodyguard. You’ll attend all of his lessons with him, and I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to teach you how to fight. You’ll be getting the education you came here for and then some, and in return, you’ll be ensuring the safety of the prince.”

Oliver nodded. “That sounds wonderful, sir. I’ll give my best to him.”

“I knew you would. I’ll discuss it with Elio, but I doubt he’ll say no. You’ll probably be moving rooms in around two or three days’ time, so please be ready for that.”

“Thank you, my king. It is an honour to serve you and yours.”

 

* * *

 

Oliver met up with Elio as usual after dinner in the library. Elio was curled up on the couch, lazily looking over a papyrus scroll, the picture of a certain intellectual luxury. He looked up, met Oliver’s eyes, and rolled the scroll up.

“I see you talked to my father,” he said in lieu of greeting.

“Are you upset with me?”

“No. I’m glad you accepted, actually. It’ll be nice to spend more time with you.”

Oliver felt himself flush. It was one thing to hear from Elio’s father that they were close, but knowing that Elio was excited to see more of him was something completely different. For whatever reason, it was so easy to forget that the Prince actually enjoyed his company, that he wasn’t just doing this out of some sense of pity or duty.

“Although,” Elio continued, a sly smile at his lips, “If you plan on playing my protector, it can’t hurt for you to learn how to fight.”

“You aren’t trying to tell me to get into the arena _right now_ , are you?”

Elio got up and grabbed Oliver’s arm, trying to pull him towards the door. “Why not? There’s still daylight to spare. Besides, the sooner we start, the more prepared you’ll be if an attempt on my life is made.”

“I don’t have a weapon.”

“We have extras, of course.” He kept tugging at Oliver’s arms with his slender hands. “Come with me, I can teach you.”

Oliver chuckled, trying to humour the young Prince. “Alright, alright. You can teach me. But only until the sun goes down.”

Elio dragged him all the way out to the armory, where he started to hold a few pieces of armor up against Oliver’s torso, occasionally muttering “no no, too big” or “not quite right”. Eventually, he’d settled on a bronze breastplate and a short, double-edged sword before putting on a more ornate set of armor he kept in a separate chest, presumably his personal set. Unlike Oliver’s armor, it came with a helmet and a shield adorned with a Vergina Sun, the symbol of the Macedonian royal family, carved proudly into it. He left both of them in the chest, though, presumably to ensure a fair fight.

Elio, slender and small as he was, should have looked laughably out of place in armor. Instead, he looked absolutely divine in the low sunlight, like some powerful warrior sent down from Olympus. It was ridiculous, to think he needed protecting by anyone. He could have passed for Achilles, invulnerable and so very powerful. The armor was designed to fit him perfectly, to protect his vital organs while still framing the surprisingly soft curves of his body.

Oliver figured he must have looked like a child wearing his father’s armor by comparison, but he kept quiet.

Elio turned his back on Oliver and walked towards the arena. “Come on, we’re burning daylight!”

The arena was a large, barren circle with a few practice dummies, tread flat by the shoes of warriors who’d practiced there before and surrounded by a fence to act as a barrier between it and the rest of the training grounds, which were mostly empty, save for a couple guards sharpening their swords. They’d all looked up, probably surprised to see their prince in all his glory sparring off against some nobody they’d never seen before.

As they entered the arena, Elio smiled and pulled out his sword. “Alright, Oliver. I’ll show you the basics. Most of the xiphos tactics are pretty self-explanatory, but it can’t hurt to practice a bit. Especially since you’ve never really used one before.”

Elio demonstrated a few basic strikes on the dummy with his own sword, explaining their use and the nuances of the technique as he did so. Oliver was doing his best to pay attention, especially considering this young man’s life would be in his hands now, but he couldn’t help but be distracted by how beautiful Elio’s armor was and how elegant he looked as he took his battle stance.

After demonstrating a few techniques, he pointed to Oliver. “Alright, let me see what you can do.”

Oliver stood before the dummy, trying to mimic what Elio had shown him. He’d be lying if he said the Prince’s presence at his back, as well as the memory of his lithe, armor-clad body weren’t making this difficult for him. Especially the way Elio would gently nudge his feet into a more secure position or move his sword hand for him so he could feel what a proper strike was supposed to be. After a few rounds of practice, Oliver drunk on Elio’s presence and the feeling of his firm, slender hands, Elio finally seemed satisfied.

“You’re improving. I’m impressed.” He looked towards the sun. “I wanted to spar with you, but I think it’s getting a bit late for that.” The Prince turned back towards Oliver. “Perhaps tomorrow, then. Once you finish your classes, we can come out here and I’ll show you what a real fight feels like.”

Oliver laughed. “Try to go easy on me, Elio. I hadn’t picked up a sword before today. I’m sure I’m nowhere near your skill.”

“Alright, alright.” Elio looked him over, sizing him up. “Though, I’m sure you could just sit on me and win the battle that way. My father was smart to pick you, you might just be the tallest man in the whole palace. I’m sure even the bravest assailants would think twice before picking a fight with you.”

“Tall, yes, but I’m hardly Herakles. A scholar’s physique isn’t going to send anyone running.”

Elio hummed. “A few weeks of training and I’m sure you’ll bulk right up. Or you might just be like me and end up skinny your whole life. Either way, your height is still pretty intimidating. I certainly wouldn’t want to be fighting you in earnest.” He winked. “Especially not after I train you.”

They made their way back to the armory and Oliver put away his borrowed weapons and armor. The sun was almost completely below the horizon by the time they arrived back inside the palace.

“My father says your bodyguard duties officially start next week, but I think it would be best if we kept training every day and started the transition early,” Elio explained. “You should start packing your things tonight. Tomorrow you can move into a room that’s closer to mine.”

“That makes sense. I should get used to keeping you close by.”

 

* * *

 

The arrangement went over surprisingly well. Elio was, as always, a pleasure to spend time with, and now Oliver had the added benefit of getting to attend his tutoring sessions. And they’d spar together, every night after dinner but before the sun went down.

It was always his favourite part of the day, seeing Elio in all his glory, covered in his brilliant bronze armor as he sparred with Oliver. On days where they were just practicing different strikes and techniques, Elio’s clothing was minimal, and he was all lean muscle and lithe limbs underneath.

When Oliver was lucky, Elio would have weapons training twice a week and Oliver would watch him in all his glory, no longer holding back for the sake of teaching his bodyguard. There was a certain amount of ferocity in his eyes, but every strike was always so graceful. He won with dignity and strove to get better when he lost. Elio was a model prince, at least on the battlefield.

But Oliver certainly hadn’t been the only to notice Elio’s beauty. Somewhere inside him, he knew it was only a matter of time before he started courting women and was swarmed with suitors of his own.

It was only a few months after he became Elio’s bodyguard that the first of his suitors finally made himself known.

He was a Cretian  nobleman names Cassander, probably about thirty years old, with a full, dark beard and curly black hair. Oliver supposed he was attractive by someone’s standards, just not Oliver’s own. For whatever reason, every time the man opened his mouth it set Oliver’s blood on fire.

He had no reason to distrust the man, but something about him just rubbed Oliver the wrong way. It might have just been jealousy or perhaps Cassander genuinely didn’t like him.

He was good to Elio, though. The first day he’d arrived after a long correspondence with Samuel, he’d come bearing gifts for the young man, most notable of this was a dapple grey colt.

Elio had walked up to the horse, absolutely bewildered. “Is that… for me?”

“A prince needs a mount, doesn’t he?” Cassander laughed and pet the horse on its neck. “I bred him myself. He’s a warhorse. Comes from good stock. His father served with yours during his campaign in Persia.”

Elio smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh, thank you. He’s really something.” He grabbed the horse’s lead. “I’ll take him out to the stables. What name does he answer to?”

“Kallistos. I could come with you, if you’d like.”

“No no, you should talk with my father and get settled in. I appreciate the offer, but I can take care of him on my own.” Elio called the horse’s name and started to lead him towards the stables, something that Kallistos seemed to be very unhappy about.

With no other choice but to follow his prince, Oliver walked dutifully beside him, giving the horse a wide berth. “I think I liked him better when he was just standing there.”

Elio groaned. “He’s a stallion. They’re all like this. I’ll have to have him gelded so he won’t give Maia any trouble.”

Maia was Elio’s horse. He’d been riding since he was old enough to fit on her. She was a gorgeous painted mare, and despite having a team of grooms to care for her, Elio was determined to do most of it himself. Oliver couldn’t count the number of afternoons where he’d watch Elio ride her around the palace grounds. They were quite the pair.

Which is why Oliver thought it was a bit odd that Cassander would try to win Elio over with a horse. He supposed it was some sort of Cretian tradition.

“He wouldn’t be bad breeding stock, don’t you think?” Oliver offered. It seemed a bit of a waste to geld such a well-built horse.

“No. Then the mares will go into heat as soon as they catch a whiff of him. Not to mention how ill-tempered stallions are. He’d be dangerous to keep around even if he was well-trained.” Elio groaned and tried to call Kallistos again, who’d decided to stay put and winny loudly. “Which he clearly isn’t. We’ll keep him in a temporary stable away from the mares and as soon as Cassander leaves, I’ll have him gelded.”

Oliver didn’t ask why Elio was intent on waiting for Cassander to be gone, so he kept his mouth shut.

Getting to the stables took twice as long as it should have. Kallistos was stubborn and hated being lead, and Elio ended up getting frustrated and tied him up beside the arena. He told the staff to be careful with him and to do their best to find some sort of shelter for him away from the other horses.

It was as they were walking back that Elio quickly grabbed Oliver’s hand and leaned in to him. He looked around for a moment, as if making sure no one was watching. His face suddenly dropped, his eyes wide like a deer’s just before it bounds away. “Oliver, I’m nervous.”

Oliver looked around too, saw no one, and gently started to push Elio towards the garden. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He bit his lip, a nervous habit that Oliver saw so rarely he’d forgotten Elio even had it. “Yeah. Please.”

Oliver tightened his grip on Elio’s hand and lead him towards the garden. They took their usual spot beneath the peach tree, Elio between Oliver’s legs. He leaned against the older man’s chest.

They locked eyes for a moment, and Oliver noticed that there were tears in Elio’s. It was the first time he’d ever seen the prince cry.

Oliver put his arms around the boy and brought him to his chest, gently running his fingers through his hair. “You’re okay. It’s okay.”

“What if he doesn’t like me?”

Oliver chuckled, gently rubbing the boy’s back. “Elio, Elio, if he doesn’t love you he’s a fool.”

“But I’m not--” He sighed, leaning against Oliver’s chest. He could feel the boy’s tears through the fabric of his tunic. “What if I’m not what he wants?”

“If he wants you, he better want all of you. Your beauty, your intelligence, and of course your power. But also your temper, your stubbornness, everything. If he doesn’t want that, if he’s not ready to handle that, it’s not _you_ he wants.”

Elio wiped his eyes with his tunic, leaning against Oliver again. “I guess I’m just worried.”

“That he’ll reject you?”

“Yes, I guess.” He sighed. “But also I’m worried that I’m not made for this.”

“Not made for what?”

“Being someone’s _eromenos_ . I could never do that. I’m too willful. I _want_ things.”

Oliver ran his hand through Elio’s curls. “What things?”

“You know what things,” Elio answered, more sharply than Oliver had been expecting.

He really didn’t, but he could guess. Despite the fact that relationships like these weren’t unheard of, men Elio’s age were intended to stand and look pretty and have all their wants and needs taken care of by their older counterparts. It was never a role Oliver could see Elio fulfilling. He was too wild, too unhinged, and too willful. Oliver figured anyone who’d attempt to court Elio would understand this but… maybe not. Maybe men like Cassander just heard about the son of Samuel, a rising scholar and young warrior, and just assumed he’d be easy to woo: a prize to be won by highest bidder.

“It’s okay. You’re entitled to your independence and anyone who’d court you would understand that.”

“I know… I just don’t know what he wants from me.”

“Well, we’re not going to find out by sitting here, are we?”

Elio stood up and got on his tiptoes to pluck a peach from the tree. “No. But I’d like to stay here for a little longer, if I could.”

“How about we go back once you’re done with that peach.”

“Deal.” Elio took a bite, his pink tongue slipping out of his mouth to catch a few stray drops of juice that had dribbled down his chin. Oliver loved him when he was like this, the picture of beautiful, carefree youth eating the fruit of his mother’s beloved garden.

Elio took a few more bites and frantically wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I am the picture of beauty and grace,” he said, playful sarcasm dripping from his tone.

Something seized his heart. There was a part of Oliver that just wanted to lean over and kiss the juice from Elio’s lips, to tell him that he had gotten to know so much of Elio through these last few months and he was so _so_ worthy of love. That it was his willfulness and his stubbornness that Oliver could never get enough of. That anyone who seeked his hand should be ready to love each and every part of him.

Elio leaned over against Oliver’s chest, allowing the man to run his fingers through his hair. When he was finally finished with his peach, he threw the pit to the side.

“Are you ready to go?”

Elio hummed, content. “Not really, but I suppose I should. Cassander came all this way to see me, I might as well give him what he asked for.”

Oliver got up and offered Elio his hand. “If he ever makes you uncomfortable, please promise me you’ll let me know.”

Elio nodded. “I promise.” He gripped Oliver’s hand and didn’t let go as they started to head towards the palace.

By the time they got there, Elio hardly looked like he’d been crying. They’d walked into the parlor together, where Samuel and Cassander were chatting with each other.

Elio took a seat on the chair beside his father with Oliver standing behind him. “I’m sorry if I interrupted you. We had a bit of trouble getting Kallistos to the stables and then I stopped for a peach on the way back.”

Cassander smiled at him. “Nothing to worry about, my prince. I hope Kallistos will serve you well.”

“He seems a fine horse.”

It was clear he was lying through his teeth, but Cassander seemed not to notice.

“He should be. His father was one of the most reliable warhorses to serve under yours, and his mother is my personal steed.”

He went on, talking about his horse and all the things she’d done. Elio’s eyes were starting to glaze over with boredom. He looked at Oliver every so often, rolling his eyes or exaggerating his boredom. They both tried to hide their smiles at the young prince’s antics, knowing Cassander would probably catch on if they weren’t subtle enough.

He didn’t and just kept droning on, as if trying to impress Elio by talkin about all of the things he’d done. It probably _would_ have been impressive, if he’d bothered to actually engage the prince instead of just talking.

Elio looked visibly relieved when Samuel announced that it was time for dinner. Elio and Cassander both made their way to the dining room. The Cretian man was actually giving Elio time to talk, mostly about how he and Oliver had gone hunting earlier that day and caught the hares for that day’s stew.

“Ah, you’re a skilled hunter, my prince. I hope you’re not of Artemis’ persuasion in _other_ ways.”

Elio’s face turned bright red. “I uh… That’s not something you have to worry about.”

Cassander smiled predatorily. “Oh? Well, I suppose that’s good to know.”

The prince sat down, clearly trying to avoid Cassander’s gaze. He pointedly took a seat next to Oliver, putting Cassander on the other side of the table.

They enjoyed a couple glasses of wine as the food was brought out before them by the servants. With the alcohol thrumming through his veins, Oliver found Cassander slightly more tolerable.

“Samuel, it would be wonderful of you to show me my room after the meal.” The man said, breaking a short bout of silence after the stew was served. He looked Elio over again, using the same predatory expression as before. Cassander looked like he was ready to eat the young prince alive. “Hopefully somewhere close to your lovely son.”

Oliver didn’t quite catch Elio’s reaction to that. By the time he looked over, a slow trickle of blood was escaping Elio’s nose.

He quickly grabbed the napkin beside him. Oliver was no stranger to the prince’s nosebleeds by now. They were relatively common, especially when he was stressed or uncomfortable.

“I think the prince is going to have to take his meal in his bedroom so he can get some rest,” Oliver hissed.

“Understandable, Oliver. You two are dismissed,” Samuel replied with a knowing look.

Once the two left the dining room, Elio took the napkin from Oliver, noticed the blood on it, and sighed. “Is it weird that I’m thankful for this?”

“Of course not.” He smiled at Elio before running his hand through his curls. “You’ve had a long day. We should get you some rest.”

Once they made it to Elio’s bedroom, the prince laid down on his bed, keeping his head forward and the napkin against his nose.

“I didn’t like him,” Elio muttered.

Oliver grabbed a cloth and ran it under some cold water. “Cassander?”

Elio nodded. “Shouldn’t I have?”

Oliver took the damp cloth, sat down on the bed, and placed the cloth on the bridge of Elio’s nose, trying to soothe the bleeding. “Not necessarily. Just because he’s interested in you doesn’t mean you have to accept his every advance. And he was being much more forward tonight than is probably proper.”

“Thanks.” Elio moved over to Oliver, placing his head on his lap. “I feel like I should have at least given him a chance, though. He came all the way here and he brought us that horse.”

“You hate Kallistos.”

“I know but… it must be a lot of work to acquire such nice stock and breed a horse like that.”

Oliver sighed and ran his fingers through Elio’s hair. “Listen, no matter how much work it was, I’m not sure the two of you would get along in the long term.”

Elio cocked his head. “Why’s that?”

“He doesn’t seem to know you very well. Anyone who was thinking of courting you would have known how much you love Maia and would choose their gifts accordingly. He didn’t even bother to ask whether or not you had a horse and if you were in want of one. Kallistos is lovely, sure, but he never should’ve been given to you. Cassander should have known better.”

“Then why come all the way here to court me if he didn’t know the first thing about me?”

Oliver shrugged. “Why does any prince or princess get courted? You partner, even an _erastes_ would have your father’s ear and a pretty young thing to mess around with. It would also be a way to up his own social status.”

Elio rolled onto his side, facing away from Oliver. “What would you have gotten me?”

Oliver felt his face heat up. “Elio, I’m not courting you. I can’t court you, I barely have anything to my name.”

“But if you did, what would you get me?”

Oliver hummed in thought, rubbing his prince’s back as he did so. “I’m not sure. Probably a book you haven’t read, if such a thing exists.”

“They do, Oliver. It shouldn’t be hard to find. But I’d like it better than an untrained stallion.”

There was a quick bout of silence before Elio spoke again.

“I’d like you better than him.”

Oliver felt his face flush. “Elio, I could never be an _erastes_ for you. There’s nothing I could offer you.”

Elio sighed and rolled onto his side, hiding his face from Oliver. “I’m a prince. What do you think I’d want for.”

They waited a few more minutes until Elio closed his eyes and started breathing deeply. Assuming the prince was asleep, Oliver gently removed him from his lap in order to get food for the both of them. As he opened the door to go out, however, he heard a quiet voice speak.

“Tell my father I don’t want any more suitors.”

 

* * *

 

No more suitors came for Elio. Whether this was because Cassander spread the word about his expereince or because Samuel requested it, Oliver wasn’t sure. But Elio didn’t seem to mind this development. As he grew older, his studies started to shift from theory and philosophy to economics and deeper mechanics of running a kingdom. He’d gone from just teaching Oliver the basics of combat to actually sparring with him, using every technique known to him.

He was twenty now, a proper man, even though his facial hair was hesitant to grow in.

Despite Elio’s age and independence, he was still insistent at having Oliver by his side. He’d started attending his father’s meetings and overseeing trade deals, proving to be a surprisingly charming and capable leader. Even Oliver, who’d known the boy for three years now, was rather shocked by the ease with which he was able to take on such responsibility.

They had arrived home from one such meeting, slightly drunk from the wine at negotiation, when a solemn voice spoke.

“The King is dead.”

They both froze. Samuel’s health had been fine. Even when they’d left for town earlier that day, he’d looked fine.

Elio took a breath and steeled himself. He turned to face the servant, a young boy of no older than thirteen. “What happened?”

“He was killed by a member of his guard earlier tonight. He was stabbed in the abdomen. Once the others realised what was happening, he was restrained and killed, but it was too late.”

“Do we know if he was working with anyone?”

“I don’t know, my prince. I was just instructed to let you know.”

Elio took a breath and nodded. “Thank you. You are dismissed.”

As soon as the servant left, tears started to flow from Elio’s eyes.

Oliver put a hand on the prince’s shoulder. No, not ‘prince’ anymore. Elio was the king of Macedonia.

“Elio?”

“I just… Do you think he’d still be alive if we hadn’t left today? Do you think we could've done something?”

Oliver rubbed his back and pointed to Elio’s bed. “Sit. You’re going to need your rest for the coming days.”

The young king nodded and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to wipe his eyes with the heels of his hands. It pained Oliver, to see his charge like this. Elio was normally so confident and put together, even when he was negotiating with people who were much older and much more established than him. To see him so utterly destroyed… it didn’t feel right.

Oliver grabbed a few cloths and returned to Elio’s side. He rubbed circles into the boy’s back as he sobbed.

“I won’t lie, Elio, if he was that dedicated to murdering your father, he would have just waited until the next time we were away. We didn’t know what he was capable of, and he blindsided all of us.” He ran his hand through Elio’s curls. “The fates decided to take your father today, but he was a great man. He’ll find his way to the fields of Elysium.”

Elio leaned into Oliver’s chest, tears still streaming down his face. “But…” He lowered his voice. “I don’t know if I’m ready. We thought we’d have more time.”

Oliver threw his arms around Elio, putting the cloths on Elio’s lap for him to use to wipe his face. “It’s okay if you’re not ready. There are people around here who will support you and assist you until you are. If I could bring Samuel back, I would. In a heartbeat. Your father was a great man and an even greater king. But your kingdom needs you, Elio. I know you’ll be great.”

“Thank you,” he muttered, raising a cloth to his eye to wipe his tears. “I’m glad you have more faith in me than I do right now.” He broke the embrace, opting to look Oliver in the eyes. “You’re so good to me, and you’ve been so loyal. I can’t ask for a better companion.”

Oliver smiled weakly. It was hard to accept praise like that when he knew it was coming from such a place of distress and vulnerability. Still, it was Elio, his beautiful charge who seemed to have more faith in him than anyone else. And even with his face covered in teartracks and his eyes glassy and red from crying, it was still undeniably Elio.

It awakened something in Oliver. He wanted to pepper the young king’s face in kisses, to stand by his side until the very end, defending their homeland and avenging Samuel. He’d always been protective of the boy, this was something more dangerous, more raw, and more fierce than he ever could have imagined.

He thought back to The Illiad, how Achilles had fought so fiercely, taken on an entire army on his own, all because of the death of someone he cared for. He’d known this was never something he’d feel incensed to do for Samuel, even though his death certainly hurt.

But for Elio?

He’d march on Persia himself. He knew that now.

He looked down at Elio’s lips and considered kissing him for a moment, but he cupped the boy’s face in his hands instead.

As if reading his mind, Elio learned forward and pressed his lips to Oliver’s, still salty-sweet from his tears. It was chaste, nothing more than a mutual lip lock, but Elio was shaking in his arms.

Oliver only held him tighter.

“I don’t know…” Elio returned the hug and held him even tighter. “Oliver. I have something to tell you and I want you to know that it’s the truth.”

“Okay.” He didn’t know what else to say. The boy has just lost his _father_ and now he wanted to tell him something? How was he supposed to respond to that?

“I’d rather die than have you betray me.”

The sentence hung in the air like a miasma.

“Elio.”

“It’s true. You’ve been so good to me, Oliver. If all that is a lie, if you just wanted to get close to me and hurt me, I’d rather die and never know. I love you so much.”

That took Oliver aback. Sure, Samuel had been killed by one of his guards, but Elio surely knew that Oliver would never hurt him.

Or maybe he didn’t.

“Elio, I never want to hurt you. I swear it it on the River Styx. If ever I betray you, then may Charon cast me into the River Acheron for a thousand years. Let the furies rend me limb from limb and throw me into Tartarus. I would not be worthy of judgement from the Lord of the Dead himself. If I betray you, I deserve nothing kinder.”

A couple more tears spilled from Elio’s eyes. “I love you. Oliver. I never want you to leave my side.”

Oliver leaned forward and kissed Elio’s lips. “I love you too, my king. I know that you can get through this.”

“Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

The viewing was the next day. Samuel’s sister had rushed over to lead the rites, since Annella had died several years ago and Samuel had no additional wives or daughters. Her and the other mourners, servant girls and priestesses mostly, were singing the traditional dirges and tearing at their hair and clothes.

Oliver was with Elio, gripping his hand as the two of them made their way over to Samuel’s body.

It was the first either of them had seen of the king after he’d been assassinated. His body had been carefully cleaned and anointed and decorated with a wreath. Despite how pale and gaunt he was, he mostly just looked to be sleeping.

Elio had squoze his hand tighter as he looked at the body of the king. He drew a shaky breath. “I still can’t believe he’s gone. It’s like.. There’s a part of me that’s expecting him to wake up any second now.”

“It’s alright. There’s no shame in taking your time with these things.” He looked around, made sure no one’s eyes were on the young king, and kissed the top of his head.

Elio smiled. “Thank you.”

Oliver held his hand through the whole viewing.

 

* * *

 

The funeral procession was the next day at dawn, as was tradition. Elio (and, by extension, Oliver) sat at the front of the funeral cart, driving the horses towards his father’s final resting place.

It was a vaulted tomb just outside of the city where Annella had been laid to rest a few years before. Samuel had insured that it was beautifully decorated and perhaps a bit overly extravagant, but everything was exactly how he’d wanted it. He’d be laid to rest right next to his beloved wife, surrounded by the material pleasures of the world.

Once the tomb was sealed, Elio, as the closest living relative, was the only one permitted to make a sacrifice. He stood at the steps leading up to the vault, raised his sword, and cut off a lock of his hair.

With the eyes of his kingdom on him, Elio looked strong and dignified. The fear Oliver had seen when they were alone, all the nerves and trepidation and grief, had all but vanished.

Perhaps Elio wasn’t aware of it now, but standing here, surrounded by the people who he would soon vow to rule and protect, Oliver could tell he had the makings of a great king.

After pouring out the libation and dedicating both gifts to the gods in exchange for his father’s safe passage, Elio returned to Oliver’s side.

“You did great,” Oliver muttered, barely above a whisper, as he gently grazed the back of his hand against Elio’s.

“It’s nothing,” Elio returned, sheepish. “Really, it’s just ceremony.”

 

* * *

 

Finally, there was the funeral feast. Elio had on his feet all day, gathering seawater and hyssop for the women to cleanse the house with, conversing and consoling mourners, and overseeing the feast preparations. It was exhausting just following and watching him.

Oliver told him to be careful with his energy and not to exhaust himself if he wasn’t up for hosting the feast.

Elio just shook his head. “I’m not that tired Oliver. And my father is only ever going to have one funeral, I should be there for it.”

Showing no signs of exhaustion or ill temper, Elio milled about the gathering crowd, engaging in small talk and exchanging stories about all the things his father had done as king of Macedonia.

Before the feast even began, Elio stood up at the head of the table and raised his wine glass. “There’s a few things I’d like to say on my father’s behalf before I begin.”

All eyes were on the young king, including Oliver’s.

“The first thing he’d do, if he were here, would be to thank each and every one of you for coming to celebrate his life and ensure his safe passage to the realm of the dead, especially those of you who took up the mantle and performed funeral rites in the absence of his wife and mother. I know he would not be able to thank you enough.”

Elio paused for a moment. “I know it goes a bit against tradition to talk about myself at an event like this, but I want to make some things clear. In my father’s absence, it is going to be my duty to take the throne of Macedonia, to protect and rule the land and its people. This is not a responsibility that I take lightly.

“I know that with my youth comes lack of experience, but I will not be running this kingdom alone. My father made this palace a gathering place for the greatest minds of our time, including my tutors and even that of my beloved, Oliver. I intend to make the best use of everything he has made available to me. This house, this kingdom, and these men are all his legacy, and it is my intention to honour the great things he has done.

“This is a time of transition and uncertainty for many of you. It is my intention to rule Macedonia with the same wisdom and dignity as my father.” He took a sip of his wine and sat back down. “That’s everything I’d like to say.”

Oliver gripped Elio’s hand under the table.

 

* * *

 

 

After the feast, the two of them stumbled into Elio’s room. They were both exhausted, too tired during the festivities to even get properly drunk like everyone else.

Oliver immediately flopped onto Elio’s bed, the young man making a show of falling into his lover’s arms.

“So I’m your beloved, huh?” Oliver joked.

“I really couldn’t think of another way of describing you.” Elio rested his head on Oliver’s chest, placing his ear right over his heart.

Oliver laughed and kissed the top of his head. “I can’t blame you. You’ve been under a lot of stress lately. But you’ve been handling it so well.”

Elio let out a contented sigh. “I figured… you know, if I was the one in that tomb tonight, I’d want you to be strong for me. My father’s passing is going to be so difficult for so many people, I could at least be someone for them to rely on during this time.”

Oliver stroked Elio’s hair. “You know, you’re allowed to be upset. Just because you have to be a leader through all of this doesn’t mean you have to put all your emotions in a box. Samuel would never have wanted that.”

“I know. And I think I’d probably be breaking down again if I weren’t so exausted, but now I have to be a leader to my people. They’re looking to me for strength and hope. Even if I’m having trouble on my own, I should at least try to set a good example.”

Oliver kissed the top of Elio’s head. “Spoken like a true king, my beloved.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to go into the Persian invasion, but I couldn't quite match up the timelines (since Alexander conquered Egypt first) and it was getting very VERY long. Still, I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> By the way, I tried to do my best to preserve the accuracy of Hellenistic funeral rites, since I could actually get some good information on what those generally looked like. You can tell that Samuel and Elio are Macedonian in this fic because they're buried in a vaulted tomb, rather than underground like the Greeks. I'm not sure whether Macedonian kings were burried with their wives (probably not), but I just couldn't see Samuel not wanting to spend eternity with Annella.
> 
> You can follow me on [tumblr](https://binary-suunset.tumblr.com/) if that's your thing.
> 
> I also do [commissions](https://binary-suunset.tumblr.com/post/160970900544/hey-everyone-now-that-i-am-officially-no-longer).
> 
> Edit: I made a [moodboard](https://binary-suunset.tumblr.com/post/175325350319/alexanders-lover-by-binarysunset-the-third-son)!


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